


Away

by mitternacht



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 08:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5736859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitternacht/pseuds/mitternacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how many chances you get, the outcome will always be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Away

**Author's Note:**

> For those who lost someone, no matter how hard they fought.

 

_July 1980, Moscow/East Berlin_

After wrestling practice, he visits a friend’s house and winds up in front of the television; a luxury. He passes by it, stopping once he notices the Olympics are being broadcasted. He watches with a sort of detached interest, half paying attention, half daydreaming about being able to compete in the Olympics. The way to become the ultimate star, he thinks to himself. The broadcast switches between swimming and wrestling events, the announcers buzzing excitedly about the rivalry between two of the youngest swimmers competing.

                A Hungarian and an East German both around the age of seventeen set to face off for the gold medal, the screen chatters. He looks up curiously and sees the moodiest looking teenager he’s ever laid eyes on. A deep, brooding expression on his face quickly changes when he realizes the camera is focusing on him. He turns away from the lens, opting to walk around and stretch instead.

 _“The_ _East German Till Lindemann is favored to bring home a medal but the Hungarian is proving to be serious competition. Poland also has …”_

                The words are barely registering in Richard’s mind at this point, he can only think of the swimmer who seemed to stare through the grainy television screen. He’s rooted to the spot, unable to tear himself from the screen in hopes of seeing the athlete again. His wish is granted, as they show the swimmers pulling their goggles and caps into place.

                They plunge into the water, some making a bigger splash than others. He notices the East German hardly makes a ripple in the water as he stiffly jumps in. All of the swimmers prepare, pulling themselves halfway out of the water to grip the starting blocks. His eyes search the screen frantically for lane three, where Till Lindemann is waiting for the race to begin. As the camera pulls back to show the scope of the crowd, the gun fires, and the swimmers lunge off the blocks and back into the water.

                He watches the swimmers glide through the water and their movements are mesmerizing, they all make it look so effortless. The phone rings, snapping him back to the present. He looks around, startled by the sound of his friend’s footsteps thundering down the stairs to catch the call. “What’s that on TV? Swimming? See if the basketball semifinals have started yet, will you?” Reluctantly, he changes the channel, taking in the swimmer’s graceful form one last time.

 

_This one was beyond your reach Richard. Reconfiguring ...resetting …are you ready for another?  
Y/N?_

_August 1989 (?) Somewhere along the possibly Austrian border_

                He actually doesn’t know what day it is or where he is. He’s been running for what feels like weeks on end, hiding as best as he can. His feet ache, his legs ache, his entire body feels as if he’s been beaten. Indeed, he has, and he’s still trying to recover from the injuries inflicted upon him. He’s barely holding on and he sinks to the ground, eyes tired and strained from trying to see in the inky darkness of the night.

                He closes his eyes … just … for a … second. He’s so … tired and …

                _Hier drüben!_ _Wir haben einen!_ come the victorious shouts. Twigs crack underneath heavy combat boots and the sadly familiar sound of rifles being cocked fills the air.

                Before he can react, he’s roughly seized by the arms and hair and hoisted to his feet. He reacts violently, trying to throw whoever has him off but to no avail. “Let me go,” he screams, his voice hoarse as he tries to kick and thrash about. He’s desperate, his screams are animalistic and raw, and it cannot end this way. Not after all he’s been through, this is not how it ends. He’s got to get across to the West, especially since he’s got to see Till again.

                But it ends. This time it has to.

                Unperson, they’ve labelled him. Never to be seen again.

_You were right Richard. Perhaps this was the wrong ending. Try again?  
Y/N?_

 

_1985_

                Nele is her name. She’s wonderful and small, so full of life and energy. He smiles at the stark contrast between her and her father. Will she grow up to be like him? Only time will tell. He feels oddly jealous at the way Till’s face lights up with joy when he speaks to her, his voice softer and more gentle than ever before.

                “I’m going to marry her,” Till tells him. “I’m going to settle down and try to make a life for … my family now,” he says, the words awkwardly catching in his throat.

                And somehow he knows that this is true. Till is dedicated to making this work, for Nele's sake. He looks at Till and shivers at the unwavering determination he is met with. It’s what he’s always admired in Till.

                “I do love her.”

                And with those words, this future is set.

_There is a way around this Richard. A much better outcome this time but you’re welcome to go back.  
Y/N?_

 

_Valentine’s Day 1990, Schwerin_

                _I’ve got to tell him_ , he says to himself, pacing in front of the door, trying to drill the mantra in his head. It’s gone on long enough and he’s sure there’s something there between them. He can’t be the only one who feels it. Paul’s told him countless times just to go for it.

                He’s determined to follow through this time.

                He stands poised in front of the door, hand hovering over the brass knocker. His cheeks are blistered and raw from standing out in the cold for so long. He can hardly feel his feet from trekking through the snow that accumulated during the past week. He can hear music playing from inside, beckoning to him. He needs to get inside and warm up soon, or succumb to any of the possible illnesses that will no doubt kick in if he stays outside for much longer.

                He reaches for the door, pausing for a moment as if he were waiting for some sort of sign. Whether it be luck or misfortune, he receives such a sign. A crash is heard from inside, the music stops abruptly, and a muffled shout of anger can be heard. He steps back from the door cautiously then hears another shout, this time, a woman’s voice.

                Is it shouting? He listens for a moment but his worst fears are confirmed. It is shouting but it’s more of the passionate variety; not that of rage, like he previously thought. A few agonizing seconds pass and again, another moan. He turns on his heel and runs from the door like a bat out of hell, fleeing as best he can. The snow is so heavy, threatening to pull him down into the cold white blanket. His legs feel like lead as he pushes himself to run, winter air burning his lungs. He can feel the tears threatening to spill over but he won’t cry.

                He has to _leave_.

                A tear leaks down his face, hot trail almost immediately freezing over. He doesn’t want any damn icicles stuck in his lashes and tries his best to scrub at them with gloved hands. The rough wool scratches at his lids, causing him more pain than he would have liked but at this point it’s a welcome distraction. He should have seen this one coming. He resigns himself to bury these feelings as deep as he possibly can within himself, he never wants to feel this agony again.

                Twenty minutes spent trudging through the snow with half frozen extremities, he finally reaches town. Only three hundred seconds stand between him and the next and last train of the night back to Berlin. He won’t be back here anytime soon. Two hours on the train, ten minutes at the liquor store for ‘your strongest, cheapest Russian vodka’, and a staggering fifteen minutes added onto that find him vomiting in his own apartment. Alone.

                While Till was happy in Schwerin.

 

_But you tried, didn’t you Richard? Further this time. Would you like to restart?  
Y/N?_

 

_March 1991, (Not exactly East) Berlin_

Khira Li Kruspe is her name. She’s wonderful and small, so full of life and energy. He smiles at the small bundle swaddled in his arms. She coos loudly, struggling to free her hand from the blanket. She seems so feisty already, will she grow up to be like him? Only time will tell. He feels light and warm inside, proud that he’s brought another life into this world.

                He’s invited Till over to finally meet her for the first time. Apprehension sets in as he passes her to Till but he knows he’s being ridiculous, Till is a great father to Nele.

                “I think I’m going to try to make things work with her Till,” he says. Till throws him a cautious glance, he’s familiar with that road. He wants to say more but his breath catches at the sight of Till cradling Khira and smiling at her. He should say something, anything.

                But he’s already made his choice.

 

_Always the pacifist the time around Richard. Not a role that suits you, don’t you agree?  
Y/N?_

 

_1992, Death Valley, California_

This is a much different escape than that of three years previously, both the ‘right’ and the ‘wrong’ attempts.

                He’s let Till convince him to come to America with him, a much needed vacation. Lately, he’s been feeling completely out of it, trying to hide his feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy from the others. Oliver seems none the wiser, choosing not to mention the issues but happily tagging along on the trip. They’ve been travelling throughout the American desert, trying to get around as best they can on their limited English skills. More accurately, Till’s English skills.

                Till’s picked up on Richard’s ever-present sadness and tries his best to keep his mind off of negative things. Till offers to stargaze with the younger man, a small gesture, but he knows how much Richard loves the scenery in this country. Richard could swear that Till was paying very close attention to him…

                Maybe the desert heat is making him delirious but he could swear that he’s got a much stronger bond with Till. Oliver is huddled beneath the biggest blanket they have, already sound asleep. They agreed to share a blanket since neither of them needed something that long. The motel they’re currently in is grubby and dingy but it’s the best they can afford in such a sketchy neighborhood.

                He sneaks out from beneath the covers, taking extra care not to let the box spring squeak as his feet hit the threadbare carpet. He finds his shoes, some crumpled bills, and creeps outside the room. He had managed to find exactly what he was looking for at this motel within minutes. He was currently on his way to pick up his ‘package’, in desperate need of a little pick me up.

                Getting the small plastic bag calms him and already he starts to feel less worried about his relationship with the others. Right now only one thing is important and that’s pleasure. What better way to unwind than a change of scenery and some drugs? He quietly crept back to their shared room, hands shaking in anticipation. Finally, he would have a few hours of relief.

                Dumping the contents onto the sink countertop, he realized how much he had actually gotten for his money. Well worth it. Perhaps the others would want to share whenever they woke up. Americans were famous for their excess and this was no exception. He neatly cut it into lines, rolled up what appeared to be a ten dollar bill, and inhaled.

                …

                The feeling was dizzying, he was almost instantaneously high. He felt extremely nauseous, that was something new. He tried to regain his balance but found himself crashing onto the cold tile floor of the bathroom. He was losing control and fast. His vision was starting to blur and … and …

                …

                …

                His heart was racing, but that was normal right?

                …

                It was getting harder to breathe …

                And…

                And…

                …

                …

                …he promised Till that he would watch the stars with him.

 

_An abrupt ending from a foolish decision Richard. This is neither the time nor place. Regardless, you will try again?  
Y/N?_

_September 1997, Sporthalle, Hamburg_

                “Heirate mich!”

                “Hei! Hei! Hei,” he growls into the microphone, feeling at ease for once as he and Paul’s chords ring out perfectly through the stadium. He looks to Till but the other man is seated, staring straight ahead with his arms folded over his chest. The blood from earlier seems to have dried up, but it never stays for long.

                He nearly misses his cue for his own solo, something he’ll probably hear about later but no one in the crowd notices. The lights flicker and he’s totally in his element, feeling more alive than ever. The screams grow louder as he finishes but he hardly notices as Till crawls over to Paul first. Paul looks a little uninterested, probably too high to really play into Till’s antics.

                Richard waits patiently, keeping his eyes focused on the crowd in front of him. He doesn’t want to seem too eager but tonight he can’t help but feel as if the crowd isn’t really there. Which is fucking ridiculous because they’re currently playing a sold-out stage. He can feel the thud of the bass drum and Till banging his knees on the floor as he makes his way towards Richard.

                …only a little further.

                Two more steps…

                Till’s gently head butting his hip, staring up at him with wide eyes.

_Oh._

                Till wrapped an arm around his hips, nudging him and smiling.

_Oh._

                He felt a very uncomfortable pressure building in the front of his pants and unfortunately there was no way to hide it. And Till noticed. Very quickly. Only one more song left, then he could take care of his … issue. That was, if it was still an issue by then.

                He looked back to Till and Paul as the song ended and found Till intently staring at him. His gaze was unreadable and he found himself suddenly frightened. He kept his eyes on the audience for the last song, willing it to last longer so he could put off the end of the show. It ended much sooner than he would have liked as heard Till say, “danke schon, das war Rammstein, gute Nacht.” They took their final bow and headed off stage, Richard all but sprinting away from the others down a deserted hallway.

                “Richard? What are you doing down here?”

_Oh no._

                “You were a little late on Heirate Mich,” Till says quietly and Richard is unsure how to take it. Normally he would either brush it off or begin to argue until it escalated into a screaming match. Instead, he whips around to find Till right behind him, a curious look on his face. Instead of replying he figures he might as well just for it, pulling Till in and kissing him. A split second later and Till shoves him off with a confused expression, backing away.

_Oh no._

 

_Sometimes, it’s best to leave things the way they are. Don’t you agree?  
Y/N?_

 

 

_February 2000, France_

He flipped the sheet of paper over, examines it for a moment, and then tears it in half.

                “You’re too controlling,” Till shouts in frustration, balling his fists. Till could hardly believe his eyes. “Why would you do that?”

                “I’m sick of it, Till,” he sighs, tired of having to tiptoe around the others. “We’ve got to change, move forward. This album won’t get finished if we keep working like this. We’re still working as like … the Wall is up. Don’t you think that we can afford to change some things? If we keep it up we’ll become, dare I say, antiquated _._ ”

                The other man freezes in place, looking extremely tense. Till walks over to him, an unsettling air of calm washing over the both of them. The last thing he sees is Till’s fist swinging wildly toward him.

 

_Wrong. Go back?  
Y/N?_

 

_March 2006, New York City - A_

                “Richard, I’m leaving. I can’t stay in New York anymore,” then the message ends. He stares at the empty apartment before him, wondering how he fucked up this time. Well, he knows but he’d rather not admit to it. He may have let their last few arguments go too far but he just had to be right. He was a stubborn bastard, needing to get the last word on everything.

                Everyone has their breaking points. He knew he was being selfish by asking Till to uproot his life and come to New York. It was worth a shot.

_Close but he’s gone. Can’t fix this one, can you?  
Y/N?_

_March 2006, New York City – B_

                “Till, I’m leaving the band. Berlin is too destructive for me, you know that,” he sighs deeply, running his fingers along the frets of the guitar. “Going back and forth between the two cities and two bands is really starting to wear me down,” he says with a smile, trying to soften the blow.

                Till hardly smiles, more of a grimace than anything and his eyes are cold and blank. “We are six or nothing,” he replies coolly and it’s a statement. Nothing to be disputed.

                He knows Till wants a response and is hesitant to tell him what the answer is. “I’m … going to focus on what makes me happy right now,” he says nervously.

                “Then that’s settled,” is Till’s curt reply. He leaves and Richard makes no attempt to stop him.

                And just like that, it’s over. Rammstein splits. No fanfare, no final farewell tours, or anything or the sort. Just a succinct press conference with the remaining five and Schneider doing most of the talking. After all, their most talkative and open member has left the band. Flake and Oliver remain silent as ever, Till is still as a statue, and Paul chimes in here and there. But it’s not the same. The energy is gone. At the end of the conference, Till looks directly into the camera and finally speaks in a tone hardly above a whisper.

                “ _Wir brennen als sechszackiger Stern oder nichts._ “

                Richard turns off the television with a strange sense of nostalgia. He can’t quite shake the feeling that this seems eerily familiar.

 

_Till was right. See this one out, won’t you?  
Y/N?_

 

Then it starts to fall apart.

_2002, Tokyo_

                “Till please pick up,” he murmurs to himself, dialing the number he knows by heart.

_The number you have reached is out of service, please try ag-_

 

_Keep going, but it won’t happen Richard.  
Y/N?_

_2000, France (the other result)_

                Till’s fist connects solidly with Richard’s face and he unleashes a howl of rage.

_Not the outcome you were looking for?  
Y/N?_

_1995, Netherlands_

“How fucking high are you? You’ve started to mess with the rest of the band and if you continue on like this … we’ll have to replace you,” Till’s words echo.

                But he doesn’t hear them. His mind is far away, a haze of numbness settling in.

 

_Fix yourself.  
Y/N?_

 

_2010, Belgium_

                “Richard, I want you to meet my fiancé,” Till says nervously. “Sophia.”

 

_You didn’t like that one, did you?  
Y/N?_

_2008, Schwerin (again)_

Till goes this time. Cancer. Pity he never told him.

 

_Maybe it’s you…  
Y/N?_

_2009_

Liebe ist für alles da ... _nicht für dich._

_Is it really worth it?  
Y/N?_

_…_

_To keep trying?_

_…_

_…_

_Even when you know you’ll never get what you want?_

_…_

_…_

_…_

_No matter how many times and ways you try?_

_…_

_It won’t happen._

_Will it?  
Y/N?_

**Author's Note:**

> -Hier drüben! Wir haben einen!: Over here! We found one!  
> -Wir brennen als sechszackiger Stern oder nichts.: We burn as a six-pointed star or nothing.


End file.
